


Unintended Consequences

by rainsrabble



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-01-05 08:33:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18362405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainsrabble/pseuds/rainsrabble
Summary: Hermione has responsible no strings sex after ending her relationship with Ronald. In a terrible twist she learns that her birth control had been compromised and there were unintended consequences.





	1. This Isn't Happening

The disgusting taste of stale alcohol on his tongue as well as his eyelids feeling like they were welded to his face was a lovely combination to wake up to. Ron rolled off the couch with a curse and stumbled to the loo, fervently chanting the mantra ‘never again, never again.’ A shower and four cups of coffee later he still felt like death warmed over but couldn’t force himself to go back to bed. Hermione wasn’t home yet, and he needed desperately to talk to her. So here he sat, staring at the door. The door stared back unhelpfully.

 

She’d stayed out all night.

 

He clung to hope she’d stayed the night at Ginny’s and that when she walked through that door they would kiss and make up and he would try harder to be the man she needed him to be and he would make himself worthy of her and all would be well.

 

It was well into daylight before Hermione came in quietly. She noted his presence at the table, silently put down her purse, and poured herself a cup of coffee before joining him. “I’ve already looked at some flats. I can be out by this afternoon.”

 

He wanted to protest, he wanted to beg her to stay with him, he wanted to say anything at all…but words wouldn’t come. He sat there, mute and wounded, while his chance to fight for his girl slipped through his fingers. She rose to her feet, dropped a kiss on the side of his mouth and made her way to the bathroom for a shower.

 

Ron sat there for a few minutes, trying to formulate a game plan, trying to figure out what to say. His eyes strayed to her purse and he recalled a foggy memory from the night before.

 

He’d had too much to drink. Hermione had said she wanted to break up and Harry had comforted him with liberal amounts of fire whisky and comradery.  He remembered stumbling home and doing something to the condoms Hermione kept in her purse. His whole thought process was a little scattered but for some reason he had decided that those condoms was the only barrier between breaking up and a dream future of Hermione having his kids. She insisted on using Muggle condoms, because why expose herself to harsh potions and spells when there was a safe non-toxic Muggle alternative? He remembered being irrationally furious about the condoms and spelling them ineffective before he had woken her up for sex.

 

The whole night had gone south from there, but he was sure he had done something to the condoms.

 

Panicking he leapt from his seat and rushed to the counter to rummage through her purse and get rid of the evidence.  With growing horror he dumped the contents on the counter, unable to find the little square silver packages. Where the fuck were they?

 

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” Hermione stood in the kitchen doorway, her hands on her hips, her hair wet from the shower.

 

“Please tell me you didn’t use the condoms in your purse,” Ron begged, knowing immediately from the look on her face that she had in fact used them.

 

“Who?” he croaked out, pushing his pain to the side, needing to know.

 

“Draco Malfoy.”


	2. Harsh Light Of Day

Hermione didn’t even feel a hint of remorse or pity at the furious gobsmacked look on Ronald Weasley’s face. For a handful of heartbeats she was thrilled that she had slept with Draco Malfoy because she could think of no other person on the entire planet that would upset Ron to this degree. 

 

Unfortunately those few moments of spiteful satisfaction were quickly outpaced by her building panic. Out. She needed to get away from Ron. He was saying something to her and she didn’t care. She didn’t want to hear his anger or his scorn or his apologies or whatever was going to spew out of that mouth. She’d heard quite enough from Ronald Weasley this morning, thank you very much. She grabbed her violated purse and sprinted for the door. Ronald had the nerve to try to block her path but she was in no mood to be trifled with, especially by the cause of her panic, and she flung him aside with a wave of her wand and darted to freedom. It took her only a few seconds to place a location in her mind and Apparate to her mother's.

 

She didn’t bother to check if her parents were home, going straight to her old room, locking the door, and furiously pacing back and forth. 

 

Okay, there was no need to be so upset.

 

Okay, there was a lot to be upset about. Mad about. Fucking furious about. But there was no need to be  _ worried. _

 

Just because she had woken up naked with Draco Malfoy and a hangover didn’t mean that there had been any sex. She remembered Draco drinking just as much as she had and Merlin knows if Ron had downed that quantity of alcohol there would have been no possibility of sex of any kind, just mostly drunk fondling and maybe sicking up. She clearly remembered the hateful argument with Ron, leaving and going to the pub, running into a group of school chums celebrating a birthday. She remembered surprise that Draco was amongst the group, the thrill of taking shots with him, the tilt of his drunken smile. She however had no recollection of all how she had gone from the pub to the hotel. Still, Draco had to have been drunk, so attempts at sex probably failed. 

 

Even as she reassured herself with this hope she knew it was a lie. The evidence was written all over her body. Her savagely tangled hair upon waking. The light whisker burn on her jaw and throat. Nipples too tender and sensitive to tolerate a bra. Love bites on the undersides of her breasts. Faint bruising on her thighs in the shape of splayed fingers. The low throbbing soreness inside that was the usual aftermath of a rough shagging. Her swollen lady bits. The wet stickiness in the knickers she’d discarded the second she had arrived home. 

 

She’d taken quite the full inventory upon arriving home in the privacy of her shower. Trying to recall some detail. All she had was a vague foggy echo of desire, an impression of warm skin and friction. He’d left a map of where he’d been on her from head to toe. She just wished she could remember the journey. 

 

She’d felt calm and relaxed and content upon waking in a way she hadn’t for  _ years _ . At least until the stabbing hangover attacked her eyes and she had to fumble for her purse and down a hangover potion forcing her into harsh wakefulness. Only to be immediately followed by a calming draught a few seconds later when she caught sight of her bed partner splayed shamelessly naked across three quarters of the bed on his back, cheerfully snoozing, and completely unaware of Hermione Granger freaking out, completely naked, next to the bed. 

 

Cursing silently, trying to find both her shoes, and get the hell out of there before Malfoy woke and made everything ten times worse was not a great way to start the morning. Especially since the thought of going back to the apartment she used to share with Ron covered in sex was literally the last thing on earth she wanted. She’d rather go back into the hotel and crash five or six more hours next to Malfoy. So instead she had gathered her composure as best she could and went flat hunting. She had been sure if she dallied long enough, Ron would go on over to his Mum’s weekly brunch without her and she could pack up her stuff and be gone before he got home.

 

Of course, Ron never made things easy and was waiting for her, bleary eyed and hungover when she walked in the door. Apparently guilt ridden because he had sabotaged her damn birth control.  

 

So she’d had unprotected sex. And unless she had hopped from room to room the night before, highly unlikely, she’d had unprotected sex with Draco Malfoy prat extraordinaire. Based on the condition of her body and her hormones she had apparently had fanfuckingtastic unprotected sex with Draco flipping Malfoy and didn’t even get the satisfaction of remembering said experience that left her sore and satisfied. 

 

Still, that didn’t mean she had to be  _ worried.  _

 

As Malfoy so loved to remind everyone in school he had plenty of money. So with advanced wizarding medical techniques he was likely to be free of any disease. Even if he had caught something with his whorish ways an expensive potion or two and he could be right back out shagging his way through wizarding London clean as a whistle.

 

Pregnancy was also probably unlikely. It was only one night and Hermione knew that a woman with a healthy cycle was only fertile a few days a month. She had never researched it extensively since she was so careful with her birth control and fully prepared to deal with the consequences of pregnancy if she did happen to get pregnant with Ron’s child. 

 

Someone else’s child, Malfoy’s child, was a whole different kettle of fish. Still, what were the odds that she had one night of unprotected night with someone unsuitable to procreate with and she just happened to be fertile that night?

 

She supposed she had better figure it out so she would know how worried to be. Grateful that she had decided to run to her muggle parents home Hermione quickly made her way to the family office, booted up her dad’s desktop, and googled the information she needed. She found an online calculator, put in the dates of her most recent period, and stared horrified at the data on the screen.

  
Apparently she needed to be  _ very _ worried. 


	3. Led Astray

The soft click of the hotel room door woke him and Malfoy immediately regretted opening his bloodshot eyes as the gentle light coming in through the curtains sent pain sharp pains bolting through his poor abused brain. He turned over with a groan, buried his head in the pillow to block out the light and made a futile effort to go back to sleep. He might have managed to block out the throbbing in his head if his bladder hadn’t decided to urgently demand he get out of bed the moment he shifted.

 

Bloody woman. Why did she have to be up at the crack of dawn and wake him? He grumbled all the way to the loo, and had to brace a hand on the wall to keep himself upright while he took care of urgent business. Finally, he ran dry and was able to make his way to the medicine cabinet over the sink and dig through the potions available. Hotel potions were usually shit but they were better than nothing at all.

 

He downed three horrid lemon flavored hangover potions and a mind clarification motion in quick succession, washed it down with a bit of water, and gratefully made his way back to bed, crashing dramatically in the middle and hugging the fluffy pillows. At this point after an all night binge he would usually sleep it off until afternoon and wake up bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready for a late breakfast. Today however, his brain was kicking into overdrive.

 

Usually his perfect recall after a night of debauchery was a terrible curse. Remembering yourself singing in public, or making out with the forty year old bartender, or vomiting in one’s own shoes was never necessary and never pleasant. This morning however he was singing his blessed memories praises as he found himself going over every single second of his evening. 

 

It was a lot to process and he was glad he was alone.

 

Granger was hardly the first muggleborn that he’d slept with and the forbidden thrill of stepping outside of acceptable blood status lovers was long worn out. But Hermione flipping Granger was hardly your usual muggle-born. She was on an entirely different level of forbidden. He’d spent all his formative years suppressing a brimming attraction that had evolved into downright obsession by 7th year. For years he had laughed at himself for immediately sitting up and paying attention every time she was on the news, every article about her in the paper, every time he saw her on the street. Her engagement announcement was met with a three day bender in Las Vegas culminating in being drugged and robbed in a seedy hotel room by a pair of prostitutes. 

 

He’d woken up naked, hungover, and convinced that his life was over. No matter what he had told himself he had always hung on to this half formed fantasy of Hogwarts head girl looking over at him and finally noticing him as a male. Finally seeing him as worthy of her attention. Her forgiveness. It was a stupid dream. He’d sobered up, gone home, and torched the box of prophet articles and photographs he had collected over the years and decided to get on with life. For the first time he started dating seriously. His mother wanted a grandchild and he had responsibilities to the family. He forced himself to go on second dates, and third dates with girls who didn’t measure up. Holding the female population up to Grangers impossible standard was just sabotaging any hope of having a real meaningful relationship. 

 

Besides, he was sure he had just built her up in his mind. She was pretty enough but there was no reason to look at other beautiful woman and find them lacking because they didn’t have wild curls and impossibly big eyes and beestung lips. Sure she was intelligent but there was no reason to cringe every time another woman made some ignorant comment, there were more important things than brains. Sure she was brave, but what did he need bravery in a future wife for? Compassionate and kind and loyal. But never towards him. For him she’d never had anything other than angry words and icy stares. He needed a wife who would be compassionate and kind and loyal to him, not Ronald sodding Weasley.

 

If she wanted to lower herself to being a brood mare for that redheaded ignorant twit than she couldn’t possibly be all he remembered her to be. She had to be duller than his vibrant memories to settle for that self-involved moron. She had to be less pretty than he imagined to pair herself with that gangly freckled fuck. She had to be more common and low than he had believed in order for her to settle for a man who mediocre in every measurable fashion. She had to be. 

 

Draco had turned a new page in his life. Put his boyhood obsession to rest. Quit longing for her forgiveness and starting trying to be the type of man who might one day forgive himself. He grew up. He worked on himself. He was satisfied with his life and his family and his place in the world. He was considering proposing to Daphne Greengrass and his future was bright and unencumbered by the past. 

 

Until Hermione Granger crashed back into his life with all the subtlety of a raging storm. He remembered a pretty young girl with youthful apple cheeks and a kind smile. The woman had ripened into a stunning beauty. Girlish barely contained wild curls had become waves of rich mahogany.  Bright intelligent eyes had been steeped in wisdom to become soulful and warm. Round features had matured into striking cheekbones and a heart melting smile. He remembered a girl who was just a little too easy to rib about her nonconforming looks and a shy smile. Time had polished her confidence and presented him with a self assured intelligent wit. Nothing had prepared him for the reality of a Hermione Granger who had grown into a breathtakingly beautiful woman. 

 

The entire evening felt like a very vivid dream. There was a purple and blue bruise on his inner arm to attest to the multiple times he pinched himself to make sure that he hadn’t slipped into unconsciousness and fantasy. He bought her drinks she accepted with a heart-stopping smile. She laughed at his jokes and leaned into his touch. She let him dance with her, and flirt with her, and spent the whole evening seemingly charmed. It was fairly early on when he began to suspect polyjuice. The real Hermione Granger would never allow his hand to rest so casually on her thigh. The real Hermione Granger would never allow him to brush up against her so close while they danced. The real Hermione Granger would never let his hand slide over her backside like he had every right.

 

By the time she let him lead her off the dancefloor to an unoccupied corner and kiss her he was downright convinced this was an imposter. He grew increasingly bold with his advances as his mind ate at the problem ferociously and he started drinking. He watched her like a hawk but saw no potions pass her lips, saw no charms or wandwork to explain her witchery. Who knew about his secret obsession? Who knew that Hermione Granger was his weakness? Why would anyone impersonate her to seduce him? He changed their location and she went willingly. He plied her with drinks and questions and shameless lustful innuendo. She rose to the occasion and kept pace with him every step of the way. 

 

He was damn near mad with lust by the time he decided he didn’t care who this was or why this was or what the objective was. Consequences be damned. This masquerader had lips that burned with passion and hips that rolled with desire and a husky voice that sounded just right panting in his ear. Who cared what the daylight brought? He wasn’t going to get this chance again. To hell with care and caution. He wanted this. He wanted to indulge fantasy of a Hermione Granger that wanted him. 

 

So he showed no restraint. He apparated them to a hotel and devoured her. If she really had been Hermione Granger he probably would have held back. Been sweet and suave and tried to make some effort to not frighten and overwhelm her. But since this woman was nothing but an imposter who wanted to use his personal weakness against him he let himself go and gave her  exactly what she had bargained for. He covered her in kisses, sucked and bit his way from lips to knees to her sweet quivering sex. He indulged every fantasy he’d ever had. He had her in the shower and on her knees and up against the wall. He surged up into her while she sat astride him letting him tug and bite and worship her nipples. 

 

He fucked her till he was sore and wrung out and exhausted and then cast a charm to give him the fortitude to do it again. He mapped her hollows and dips and curves with kisses and committed them to memory. He wrung signs and moans and screams from her and seared the sounds into his brain for recall on cold winter nights. He steeped himself in her scent and her taste and let himself drown in her pleasure. He didn’t allow his eyes to slide shut while he abandoned common sense and luxuriated in the feel of her silken heat wrapped around his almost sore aching cock. No, he kept eyes on her, memorizing the look on her face as he surged inside her, claiming her. 

 

Despite his best intentions he eventually gave into exhaustion. He was weak and allowed himself the pleasure of wrapping her in his arms and holding her naked body like she was really his girl and they would wake up tomorrow and make love again. Just for five minutes, he had told himself, only to wake at the sound of the door closing right back where he had started: naked and alone. He had never thought sleeping with Hermione Granger would make him feel so empty. 

 

He supposed at some point he needed to get on his feet, find his wand, and get on with the business of finding out just who the hell had shared her skin with him. But right now he just wanted to lay there in sheets that smelled like sin and sex with limbs that were relaxed and slightly sore and let the fantasy ride out just a little longer before the harsh light of day intruded and broke his heart all over again.


	4. Driven to Profanity

Hermione ignored the first three letters, sending the owl back with unopened post. She also directed her specially patented de-howler charm at the first red envelope she received returning it mute and harmless to its sender just to demonstrate she could not be bullied. But she finally gave in after de-howling the second red envelope a mere ten minutes later mostly because she needed to respond or she would never get any damned work done. 

 

Despite the fact that she had repeatedly and consistently let Ronald know that due to contamination issues she needed to leave her sealed off clean room to accept mail and then go through decontamination procedures all over again to resume work, he still often sent her owl post. Owls were a decontamination nightmare. She had to sterilize her entire lab each time she admitted an animal, no matter how clean and well kept the owl was. Then she had to change clothes and scrub down and do a series of highly involved charms before she was able to resume her research in the clean room. She had a highly delicate counter potion she was attempting to deliver and this whole series of harassing letters had tanked her productivity. 

 

The missive was scrawled in capitals and the harshness of the script was a testament to how upset Ron was. 

 

‘YOU LOVE MUGGLE BIRTH CONTROL SO MUCH, HERE YOU GO,”

 

Hermione turned the envelope on it’s side and stared at the innocent package of Plan B Ronald had seen fit to send her. A whole new level of irritation spiked through her. No apology. No concern for her well being. Just an angry missive with an order to take care of any side effects Ronalds despicable behavior may have caused. Yes, she had it in her power to clean up his mess, to prevent any evidence of his misbehavior. As usual, she was left holding all of the responsibility and Ronald just expected her to take care of things so that he would have to face no consequences.

 

Like their finances, and the housekeeping, and planning their wedding. Ronald just breezed through life doing whatever the hell he wanted and Hermione had to go after him fixing everything. Well she wasn’t cleaning up his mess this time. She wouldn’t be lying to his family when they asked why she was so furious and couldn’t come round to dinner. She wouldn’t be smoothing things over with Harry and Ginny. As far as she was concerned a pregnancy would be poetic justice. Let Ron be the one who was embarrassed and humiliated for a change. Let him explain to people how she had become pregnant with someone else’s child before their break up even hit the papers. 

 

With a furious flick of her wrist she dumped the package in the garbage and released the owl out the window without a return address. She broke her own emergency protocols to spell the window silent and impenetrable. Yes if there was an explosion or a fire she just sealed off her quickest exit but Ronald could send 1000 owls and not disturb her day.  She began sterilizing her lab with quick purposeful sharp movements that betrayed her growing fury as she got more and more upset.

Angry tears streamed down her face as she did her best to get on with her day and finish her important project. This was just another crystal clear example of how Ron didn’t know her at all. First of all, wouldn’t he know that she was well aware of what options are out there and what she needed to do to take advantage of them? She didn’t need Ron to treat her like a moron and send her instructions like she was an ignorant twat. Secondly, did he even listen to her when she had explained why she wanted to use muggle birth control in the first place? It wasn’t because she preferred the muggle way or some such nonsense. It was because chemical birth control was hard on her body and full of chemicals and had side effects, not to mention an increased risk of cancer. If she was going to use a morning after chemical solution clearly she would have gone with the wizarding version which was more effective and less harsh on a woman than Plan B. 

 

By the time she finished up her day Hermione’s fury had simmered down to a low flame of resentment and vengefulness. She was actually halfway hoping she was pregnant at this point just to make Ron feel horrible. Apparently violating her trust in the most despicable way by spelling her birth control ineffective than attempting to engage in coitus with her in a misguided attempt to get her pregnant in order to force their relationship to continue wasn’t enough to make him feel bad. Knowing him, he had probably shrugged off his wrongdoing by using his usual go to excuse that he was drunk. She didn’t care if he had been blind stinking drunk, he had not only chosen to get drunk he had also chosen to deliberately skirt her birth control in order to force her to give in and get his way. 

 

Besides, Ron was too late. If he wanted to influence her he should have moved more quickly. She wasn’t one to waffle around, wringing her hands, and not making a decision. Just because Ron had, yet again, put her in a less than ideal situation that was entirely his fault, didn’t mean he had any say so whatsoever in how she dealt with the aftermath. After a few hours of panic and tears and heartbreak she had dried her eyes and put on her big girl panties and thought the situation through logically. 

 

A baby at this stage in her life wouldn’t be a burden. She wanted a child and her main reason for postponing pregnancy was she had been waiting for Ron to mature into father material. One of the main reasons she had chosen to permanently end her relationship with Ron was that it was clear that he was not making any progress maturing as a person and she was running out of prime child bearing years. Finding and securing a husband prior to getting pregnant would take a minimum of three years with dating norms and a typical engagement period, with the average time involved being five years. She was 25 now, which would put her at about 30. It wasn’t recommended to conceive after 35 which didn’t leave her a whole lot of breathing room if she wanted two children two years apart. 

 

She simply couldn’t afford to waste her husband procuring years waiting around for Ronald hoping that someday he would be the husband and father she wanted. She had already decided that she would no longer put her life plan on hold to attempt to wedge him into a position in which he clearly did not fit and which clearly made him unhappy. He wanted to drink and carouse and cheat, staying out all hours of the night horsing around. She wanted her life to be carefully ordered, well thought out, and peaceful. Ron found that boring and dull and time had not changed their incompatibility. They were growing farther apart, not closer together. So she had decided to move on.

 

Now, with the possibility of an unplanned pregnancy, for the first time she considered the reality of raising a child on her own. She was financially secure, her career well established, and she desired a child. The problem so far had always been the husband. She wanted someone compatible with her, who would help her raise her child the way she wanted, with her love of knowledge and similar values. She fully acknowledged that she was a bit of a controlling personality and struggled a bit with the thought of sharing such an important responsibility of nurturing another person with anyone less than ideal made her cringe. But Malfoy would want nothing to do with a halfblood child. Rumor was he was to marry Daphne Greengrass. She could have this child with him none the wiser and simply do everything exactly the way she wanted to and not have to worry a bit about his influence. She would simply claim ignorance of the child’s parentage and go it alone.

 

She would never be so irresponsible as to deliberately set out to get pregnant without the father's consent. But this had been out of her hands, the damage was done, and perhaps this was a blessing in disguise. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she liked it. The Malfoys were a magically proficient group. If she chose to become artificially inseminated in the muggle world in order to become pregnant sans father, she wouldn’t be able to select a magical donor. There simply was not a magical pool to choose from since magical beings just used magical fertility options to conceive and didn’t rely on outside donors. The Malfoy’s had no recorded squibs in their bloodline, were highly intelligent, and pretty. Leave out any parental influence and Draco was actually an ideal match for a magical donor. 

 

So, in the end, she had decided to let fate play out its course and not take any action to deter a successful pregnancy. In fact she had picked up some over the counter prenatal pills and had one along with a nutritionally complete breakfast, a meal she usually skipped. In light of her decision, Ronald sending her a package of Plan B was especially distasteful since he had no idea how she felt about the situation and hadn’t bothered to ask her. In a way she was glad, it had been hard to put an end voluntarily to a relationship with someone she loved for purely pragmatic reasons. She knew Ron and her family and his family and their friends would chide her for being too logical and not putting enough value on the emotional side of marriage and child rearing. At least now she had an excuse for ending the relationship that other people would find acceptable and he had made her angry enough this morning to not even consider keeping mum about the whole situation. The only bit she would be keeping to herself would be who she had dallied with and Hermione would be willing to bet her bottom dollar that Ron would never ever in a million years admit to anyone whom she had slept with Draco. 

 

She ended her day ten minutes late, not liking the fact that she was a bit behind in her work due to  being interrupted so often in her morning. Normally she would have skipped lunch to make up the time, but with the possibility of a pregnancy she had forced herself to take a twenty minute break to eat her carefully thought out lunch. She couldn’t help but spare a thought that maybe soon she wouldn’t be able to keep food down at all and she forced herself to suppress a giddy smile. No sense getting excited when it was still too early to know anything. Still, she had made sure to eat every bite and wash it all down with a nice big glass of water, which she usually avoided like the plague. She had read up on the top 7 things to drink during pregnancy and water had sailed in at the number 1 position.

 

Still, she tried to avoid staying late whenever possible, knowing her own work ethic if left to run unchecked would keep her out all night. She needed to have good work-life balance for her mental health so if she had extra work to do she usually made a point to come in early rather than stay late. But, she allowed herself ten minutes, before she changed into her street clothes and gathered up her recently spelled theft proof purse. She’d never felt the need to take such drastic measures in the past but now felt it was prudent to lock her purse down from outside interference. She unspelled her window before closing the door firmly behind her.

 

Only to be greeted by a dozen women clustered around the reception desk in the lobby. It was rare that anyone but her stayed late so she was caught off guard for a moment. They were chatting casually grouped around an enormous flower arrangement giving off a strong enough scent that it hit her clear across the room the second she stepped a toe outside of her lab. She made her way over to the group, a friendly smile on her lips to say good evening, that died as she became the center of attention immediately in a way that felt creepy and unnatural. She faltered in her confident stride for a half step but then forced herself to continue on normally, refusing to be intimidated.

 

“There she is,” the receptionist announced heartily breaking the sudden silence as the woman moved aside to make room for her. “We’ve been waiting for you to come out and read the card!” 

 

 The card? Oh, the flowers. A towering magnificent arrangement with cream colored roses and pure white lilies displayed in a lovely sapphire colored glass cube took up most of the real estate on the receptionist's desk. A simple white envelope tucked amongst the greenery had her name handwritten in a disturbingly familiar script. She might have not seen Malfoy’s handwriting in a decade but she always had an eye for details, and his backhanded old fashioned letters were unmistakable. “I’d have brought them to you when they were delivered but the delivery man had explicit instructions that they were to be left in reception so as not to contaminate your lab,” the receptionist was saying.

 

“Well, read the card,” one of the women prompted and Hermione struggled to find a reason to delay and get away for a moment of privacy. She had no desire at all to open this card in front of a handful of gossiping witnesses. She leaned in to sniff her flowers as a cover for picking them up so her hands would be full and she could edge towards the lifts politely while ‘forgetting’ to read the card. The arrangement was feather light, clearly having been charmed for easy carrying and did actually smell quite lovely. 

“Come on, I’m dying to know who they are from! Ron never sends you flowers. Do you have a new secret admirer?” asked Connie from research with a teasing good natured smile and the other woman tittered annoyingly. Hermione took a step back, giving a nervous little laugh as she tried to figure out how to exit this situation without  admitting she knew exactly who the flowers were from.

 

“I’d be willing to bet I know who sent them,” Marietta Edgecombe announced, a sneer to her voice that was always present when anywhere near Hermione. The girl gave a nasty smile and plopped  _ The Daily Prophet  _ down on the recently cleared receptionist desk. There it was, in full color for the entire world to see. Hermione Granger, walking arm in arm, with Draco Malfoy down a cobblestone road. The photo was clearly intimate as Hermione was leaning in to his space, obviously tipsy, and Draco was smiling down at her indulgently. 

 

“Fuck,” Hermione heard her voice speak the word out loud despite her usual distaste for cursing. So much for her anonymous lover plan. The whole world would now be able to guess who the father of her possible child was now. Suddenly not giving a damn about manners or gossip or anything other than getting as far from that photo as possible Hermione spun on her heel and hightailed it to the lift. “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck…” It was the only word that seemed to fit the situation.


End file.
